Politicising heritage a trap for bias
RECENTLY, University of Cape Town student Chumani Maxwele threw faeces at the statue of Cecil John Rhodes as a protest against the fact that this “symbol of white supremacy” was still standing on campus in spite of the fact that the institution has a stated commitment to transformation.
In its response, the university has condemned this form of protest as “reprehensible”, stating that not only are there formal procedures in place where these issues can legitimately be challenged, but that the institution has already organised a debate in partnership with the Student Representative Council on the issue of symbols within the context of transformation. Thus the issue of heritage and the legitimacy of colonial-era symbols – a fraught issue in South Africa – is already the subject of discussion and debate among staff and students of the university.
At the dawn of democracy in 1994, the country inherited a legacy of overwhelmingly colonial and apartheid-era heritage symbols, while the history and heritage of blacks was rendered largely invisible. In the early years of the country’s democracy, it was painfully evident that South Africans did not commemorate the same heritage or celebrate the same heroes.
However, in the past 20 years much has been done to address this shortcoming, with the lives, work and contribution of a wide range of South Africans: poets (such as Ingrid Jonker), musicians (Brenda Fassie), scientists (Raymond Dart) and human rights activists (Cissie Gool), among many others, being celebrated and commemorated. New national heritage sites have been declared, such as Constitution Hill, which incorporates the worst of the past with the best of a democratic South Africa: the Old Fort, a notorious jail with many traumatic memories, as well as the Constitutional Court, which upholds and interprets the constitution upon which our democratic state is founded.
In general, South Africa has not followed the path of obliterating the past by destroying the statues of revered colonial and apartheid-era icons, as such memorials have either been removed and placed in storage or taken over by parties interested in their preservation, such as the numerous statues of former prime minister Hendrik Verwoerd, now standing in the white enclave of Orania.
Since there is no government policy which requires the removal or destruction of memorials considered politically offensive today, many have simply been left in place, to eventually become as invisible to passers-by as the other pigeon-poo decorated statues which litter our public spaces. In other instances, there has been a concerted effort to challenge colonial and apartheid-era memorials by placing statues and memorials more appropriate to a democratic society in close proximity. This has, for example, been done at Parliament, where a bust of Madiba and statues of Walter and Albertina Sisulu offer a riposte to those of Queen Victoria and the first prime minister of the Union of South Africa, Louis Botha.
There cannot be many South Africans who believe in democracy who have a soft spot for Cecil John Rhodes. When mining magnate Rhodes bestrode the colonial landscape in the late 19th century, women and blacks knew their place: women in the home and blacks (women and men) working in subordinate positions. Rhodes was very much a man of his time, reflecting the common prejudices and stereotypes held with regards to the role of blacks and women – unlike his contemporary, the author, progressive political activist and feminist Olive Schreiner, who was very much ahead of her time.
As a ruthless businessman and ardent supporter of the expansionist aims of British colonialism, Rhodes would be shocked to see what has been made of his land bequest to the nation. Instead of a campus populated by well-born, moneyed white men and a tiny minority of white women studying for degrees considered suitable for their sex, today’s student population is at least 50 percent female, and comprises students from a diversity of backgrounds.
Yes, there should be more women and blacks among the ranks of the staff, especially at senior level, but the reasons for this shortcoming are complex, and include the many failings of our basic education sector. Notwithstanding, the very presence of female and black students in such numbers subverts, challenges and contradicts Rhodes’ belief in female and black inferiority. The procession of students winding their way past his statue on a daily basis is thus a practical manifestation of the failure of his toxic ideology and his narrow vision for South Africa.
But what to do about the Rhodes statue and numerous other colonial-era symbols at UCT? The current debate started by students and the administration will probably conclude with either the removal of the statue, or its retention, contextualised with a companion memorial. In either case, I would urge the UCT community not to follow the usual tired path of merely replacing or contextualising the statue of a past icon with a more politically palatable one.
The reason for this is that when the issue of heritage is politicised by those with a specific political agenda, it inevitably becomes enmeshed with subjectivism and bias as the main aim of those involved is to exploit the issue for shortterm political gain, and use state resources to pay tribute to their own icons.
Historically, and at a global level, it has been shown that, depending on the eye of the political beholder, one person’s hero can just as easily be another’s villain, leading to the memorials erected by those in political power in a particular era vulnerable to removal, if these are considered offensive by a subsequent political dispensation. As a consequence of following this path, the heritage sector worldwide has often been trapped in an endless game of heritage musical chairs, won by whichever political party happens to be in power.
Ideally, the issue of heritage should be completely outside the influence of narrow party politics and those driving a dogmatic ideological agenda. What is required is for a diverse range of voices from within the UCT community to be heard and to take this process forward.
My proposal is that the issue of history, heritage and symbols at UCT should be completely delinked from party politics, and that a politically mature and imaginative approach be adopted, one which avoids the renaming of university infrastructure after individuals, or erecting yet more statues of individuals considered to be the “heroes” or “icons” of any political party. Let us put our heads together and think of constructive and creative ways to celebrate and commemorate our hard-won academic freedom and democracy, which are not susceptible to the vicissitudes of the political winds of change.
As the descendant of seamstresses and tailors, fishermen and cooks, I know what I’m going to do the next time I’m on campus: I’m going to walk past Cecil, give him a big grin and say, “You lost, Olive won!”. Ultimately, of course, it is South Africa which has won.
Dr Khan is a UCT graduate and former member of staff, with an interest in heritage matters.